My Immortal: Ebony Redefined
by One Deranged Scribbler
Summary: A SERIOUS parody of a seriously bad fan-fiction. This is NOT a sequel to the on-going saga of awful by XXXbloodyrists666XXX, but it was most definitely my inspiration. The A/N explains a little bit better. Rated T just to be safe. Chapter 4 is UP!
1. Chapter 1

**WARNING:** I'm going to save you from some reading you might not want to do. If you're looking for laughs, look elsewhere. (I personally recommend "Imaginary" by Enooby. It's a riot.) I swear to you that this story is serious. Why? Well, after reading My Immortal's hysterical epicness, I was inspired. Was there something . . . _more_ to E'noby? Had Tara actually stumbled across something deep and interesting? Was it possible that beneath all the hopelessly broken bits there was something worth more than a cheap laugh?

The answer, incidentally, is no. I tried. It is not possible to breathe life into a nonexistent plot. Even worse was trying to make something of Ebony. "I hate effing preps, Gerard Way is effing hot and it's not real effing clothing 'til you add effing fishnets. Misspelled effe!" does not an award-winning novel make. Still, I persevered, and, after a level of contemplation that the story frankly did not deserve, I present to my audience _My Immortal: Ebony Redefined_. It is my very first fan-fiction, so feel free to criticize 'til your fingers go numb. "Jus n0 fl4m3rs!" as XXXbloodyrists666XXX would say, "an _fangz_4 reeding all u awesum goffiks!!1!111" :-)

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own the Harry Potter series or XXXbloodyrists666XXX's OCs, including Ebony Blah-Blah Raven Way (nor do I have any desire to).

XxoxoxoxoxoX

I nearly dropped my bag. The Slytherin Common Room was deserted. Not almost empty, but for the first time in three full months actually devoid of any sign of life beyond the irregular throbbing of my own heart. Studying for the approaching Transfiguration exam was no longer important; Transfiguration in general was no longer important. I tiptoed over to the black stone of the fireplace, relishing the delicious heat of the red flames, and peeked around to see if anyone was napping on the soft, green velvet armchairs. I suppressed a mad giggle. No one. The fireplace was burning just for me. The chairs were clustered in various parts of the room purely for my own enjoyment. The tables, the cold stone floor, the dim glow of the lamps...it was all for me.

A huge grin threatened to split my face in two as I danced downstairs to the Girl's Dormitories, reaching up to run my fingertips along the low ceiling as I went. Throwing my bag atop the bed, I pulled open my trunk and shifted through the bottom mess of broken quills and old robes until I found the hidden treasure I had been searching for.

_East of Eden_, by John Steinbeck. It was Muggle literature, something frowned upon by even the most lenient members of the Slytherin House, but I simply could not help myself. If only it hadn't turned out to be so _fascinating_! For the first time in my life, I was getting a real glimpse into the mind of an educated Muggle. I walked back upstairs slowly, searching for my marked page as I went. I found my favorite armchair without looking up from the soft, brown pages, snuggled into a cat-like ball, nuzzled my head securely against the armrest, and took a deep breath. The strong, comforting scent of printing ink, mildew and dust filled my nose. This was paradise.

Finally at peace, I allowed my mind to eagerly descend into the worn brown pages of the frayed volume. I was one with the characters in this novel. I sat with the Trask family at their Thanksgiving meal, felt Cal tense beside me as his father admired his brother's thoughtless gift in place of his own, struggled with him as darkness clouded his heart, threatening to consume the both of us until—

"Ugh! The only thing worse than Divination is History of Magic, don't you think?"

I paled and quickly slipped the book inside my robes, praying the bulge it created wouldn't attract attention. Pansy Parkinson's sneering tone was recognizable even at a distant whisper. I shuddered away from the thought of her finding me out and telling the others. The Cruciatus Curse was hardly the only method of making a witch wish she was dead.

"Divination isn't that bad." I did not recognize this second voice. While Parkinson's was viciously high-pitched, her companion dragged her syllables along with a caveman's grunt. "Think about it. Is there any other class that isn't interrupted every few minutes with, 'Oh, Granger! A smart Mudblood like you gets another ten points for Gryffindor!'"

"Don't even _think_ that name around me!" Pansy snapped. "Honestly, when will Dumbledore learn that the only way to get any decent wizards is by barring those Muggle-born defects? Everyone knows Grang—I mean, that Mudblood—only gets good marks because Potter fancies her."

Potter... I felt an ashamed blush rise to my face. With a sharp mental shake I pushed the thought from my head. This was definitely not the time to be thinking about something like that. I did my best to curl tightly against my chair as I heard them get closer. It was always easier to hide from Pansy than listen to her endless complaints. One of the book's hardcover edges jabbed me hard in the side when I turned too far, and I bit my lip to keep from cursing.

"Huh," the other girl said in her Neanderthal groan. "There really isn't anyone in here."

"Of course there isn't!" Pansy snapped. "It's the Slytherin versus Gryffindor match. No one in their right mind would miss it."

"Then why are we?"

"Because, Millicent, dear," the girl's sharp voice dug like a knife, "if we're out there watching, we can't very well set up a party for Draco and the others, can we?"

I rolled my eyes. Why wouldn't they just go away?!

"But what if we don't win...?"

"You expect _my_ Draco to lose?!" Pansy countered. "To who, exactly? The Weasleys? Precious little Potter? Hardly."

The pain in my intestines grew worse at the sound of those two names allowed so close together. I did not want to be discovered here, or at the very least not like this. With a loud noise I hope sounded like a yawn, I untangled myself from the chair and turned around to face them.

"Oh, someone's here. Morning," I said dreamily, making what I could only assume were stretching motions.

Pansy's hard face paled a fraction. "R-Ravenway," she stammered. She frowned and her voice returned to its normal, vice-like shriek, "Pay more attention! You could scare the f-first-years or something, hiding like that during a Quidditch match!"

"Sorry, I wasn't aware I was hiding. Has the game started already then?" I kept my attention on Pansy to avoid staring at Millicent. I did not need to see what she was doing; the acute pressure her beady eyes boring into the side of my face was telling enough. She seemed to be absorbing every inch of my expression, as though trying to decipher if I was being rude by making my presence so suddenly known. Worried that my behavior might not stack up against her critical stare, I tried at a smile.

"It's been going on for about a half-hour now," the girl sniffed scornfully. "Draco will probably have caught the Snitch before you get down to the field."

"You're probably right, but I might as well try. Thanks so much, sorry again for not paying more attention." My glance flickered to Millicent's massive frame for only a moment, and I nearly bowed in apology. "See you." Without waiting for a good-bye, I wrapped my green and gray scarf tightly around my neck and slipped through the stone door that hid the Common Room from sight without a backwards glance.

In all honesty, I really was curious about how our team was faring, though nowhere near enough to show my face at the field. The large square weight bumping against my leg was a constant reminder to avoid as many people as possible. Thankfully, it was fairly easy to keep out of sight as I worked my way through the dimly lit labyrinth of narrow corridors, my pace quickening slightly as I passed Professor Snape's office, jumped over the disappearing step just before the Entrance Hall, and slipped through the large double doors that guarded the Hogwarts' Grounds. From there, I headed slowly towards the Quidditch field.

The faint narrations of the announcer were audible before the field was even in full view, and the cheers and hisses from the crowd roared like a treble of thunder. Content with my distance after walking only a few paces farther, I veered off the well-trodden path and proceeded toward the gentle hill a couple dozen meters away. Cautiously scanning the earth for any rocky patches or groundhog burrows, I reached the summit without slipping and made myself comfortable on the slightly damp grass.

Flashes of green and crimson filled the sky above the Quidditch field. I watched with awe as a majority of the players zipped back and forth at top speeds. Most stayed at about the same level, some interacting with various dots I could only assume to be the Quaffle and Bludgers, but two bright streaks of color hung lazily above the action. Then, suddenly, the sounds of the audience swelled. The scarlet streak that had been loftily floating above tensed into a dive; he had spotted something! Its green shadow mimicked the motion and they fell together, each trying to outfly the other, gaining speed, disappearing from view, and then--!

"GO-GO-GRYFFINDOR! GO-GO-GRYFFINDOR! GO-GO-GRYFFINDOR!" The crowd pulsated with the deafening pattern, and I fell back on the grass in wonder. Even amidst the mighty roar it was possible to hear the underlying hiss of distaste. Slytherin had lost. "GO-GO-GRYFFINDOR! GO-GO-GRYFFINDOR!"

The huge roar of applause brought to mind my Sorting, though it had been years ago now. It was the same year Harry Potter had been declared a Gryffindor. My vision blurred as the memory of his reaction flooded back in vivid detail. He had...smiled. It was as though he did not realize the strength of the applause he received versus those who had gone before him. He climbed off the stool to join the rest of his House with an excited bounce, and sat happily with the rest of the Gryffindors. His pale skin stood out against those ridiculous black frames he wore over his eyes, and his hair was a tumbled mess. He did not carry himself like a celebrity, but I could not help but idolize him. He had beaten He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He had managed that happy grin even after losing his parents. He was not an incomplete shell; he was real. My face fell. I could never tell him about my admiration. I could never even stand to look him in the eye. He had lost his parents because they stood up to the Dark Lord; I had lost mine because they had not followed Him properly. What did someone with such a strong Death Eater ancestry have a right to say to him?

"GO-GO-GRYFFINDOR! GO-GO-GRYFFINDOR!"

When it was my turn to face the Sorting Hat, I had thought the exact opposite. _Not Gryffindor, not Gryffindor, not Gryffindor, not Gryffindor, not--_

_"Why ever not?"_the Sorting Hat had asked me softly._"You have the potential to be quite courageous..."_

I looked over at Harry Potter and shook my head earnestly. At Professor McGonagall's raised eyebrows, I stopped mid-shake.

_"Not as much as Harry Potter? Are you really sure? You don't even know the boy... Ah, but you're adamant, are you? Well, there's always RAVEN--oh. I see. Yes, I suppose Ravenway the Ravenclaw does make a bit of a sticky nickname. Quite the picky one, aren't you? Ah, well, at least you have a healthy thirst to belong. Very well then, let's settle for..._"SLYTHERIN!!"

And Ebony Ravenway of Slytherin I became. I learned the expectations of each House quickly enough. The Gryffindors were brave, the Ravenclaws were smart, the Hufflepuffs were kind and hardworking, and the Slytherins were...what? Evil? "Cunning" was the word most often used. I thought of Millicent Bulstrode and nearly laughed aloud. She was not the only one I had my doubts about. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were hardly capable of reading. It seemed that the other Houses expected Slytherins to be purist bullies, and enough of us were that I could not entirely object to their profiling.

"And yet," I whispered to myself, the cold blades of grass scratching at my cheeks, "is it really the House that makes the student, or the student that makes the House?"

My musings were interrupted by the excited procession of fans hurrying back to school. Sitting up, I watched a spattering of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws lead the way back to the castle, though a makeshift parade of celebrating Gryffindors dominating most of the trail's middle. The victorious players were raised high in the air, dim cheers still surrounding them like a cloud, and the two red-headed Weasley twins appeared especially gleeful in the mesh of faces. In the far back were the Slytherins, their scowls vicious as they stalked bitterly towards the castle.

I wondered vaguely if I should join them when something strange caught my eye. A yellow and red scarfed boy was facing the wrong direction in a group of green and silver. The other Gryffindors were too caught up with their festivities to notice, and a vague sense of dread dominated my senses. More afraid than curious, I jogged up to the scene to see what the trouble was.

"What's wrong, Longbottom?" an older Slytherin taunted, pushing the boy backward and taking an aggressive step forward.

The Gryffindor trembled, backing away with his hands held timidly in front of him as the crowd started to thicken, "My toad...I lost Trevor..."

"Aww, mates, he misses his toad." Adrian Pucey, our Chaser, pushed his way into the group as well. "Why don't we make him feel a little better and turn him into one?"

I paled and looked back at the stammering boy now facing a wall of wands. He was one of the boys who hung out with Potter every so often. What was his name? Neil...? Nathan? It didn't matter; I had seen him carrying around his pet before. I shut my eyes and tried to fix my mind on the image of the fat black toad croaking somewhere in the grassy field. "_Accio_ Trevor!"

The slimy animal flew into my grasp almost instantly, and I barely stoppered a yelp as my hands rubbed against its wet, wart-covered back. My brain seemed to wince. Why couldn't Trevor have been something that didn't feel absolutely repulsive? An owl would have been acceptable; even a rat. Anything in Hogwarts but a toad! With my nose wrinkled in disgust, I ran in front of the Slytherin boys and nearly threw the ugly beast at the round-faced boy. "Here," I said breathlessly, refusing to meet his incredulous stare. "Next time, don't take him to a Quidditch game or you might lose him for good."

My House members appeared even less believing. Pucey was the first to voice his outrage. "What do you think you're doing?!"

There was a general nodding of agreement among the rest of the throng. They appeared reluctant to put down their wands. Something was obviously wrong with me.

"Don't you think McGonagall would have noticed if one of her students came back with more warts than he left with?" I asked, hoping the sweat lining my hairline wasn't yet visible. "And besides—"

"Besides what? Do you honestly believe he would rat on us? He can hardly stand as it is."

I turned around. It was true. The boy was still shaking, his hands frozen around his toad and his eyes begging for someone to rescue him. The rest of the Slytherins laughed, some at me and most at him.

"Move, Longbottom!" I hissed.

He responded with a sound somewhere between an actual word and a squeak. Pucey definitely had a point. This boy was not the type to stand back up after being pushed down.

"What's going on? You're all blocking my way."

Silence followed the cold voice, and the crowd parted in slow motion, leaving me plenty of time to consider my lone defense of the cowardly Gryffindor. I did not need to see the owner of the voice to know who it was speaking. Each word was uttered as though he expected to be paid a Galleon by the syllable. I knew what to expect as the boy came into view, but that did not stop my body from numbing in his presence.

Even though the game had hardly been over for a full twenty minutes, his white-gold hair was perfectly in place and his emerald robes were meticulously smooth. His pearl colored skin stood out against the rich green he wore, and his silver eyes took in my presence with something between disgust and disinterest. When he opened his mouth, I half-expected to see two racks of diamonds in place of teeth, "Why exactly is a Slytherin helping Longbottom?"

I took in Malfoy's form wordlessly, allowing my eyes to silently move from his face to the two pillars of oafish muscle flanking him on either side. That stupid Muggle book was still weighing down my robes, though now my fear of having it discovered was meaningless. There was never any excuse to question a House member in a higher year, and even less to do anything Malfoy would consider distasteful. This went beyond making me wish for the Cruciatus Curse; this was the equivalent of_Avada Kedavra._

I glanced back at Longbottom again. Neville was his first name, I suddenly recalled. I raced through my options in silent panic. One good Leg-Locker Curse on the chubby little fool, and the whole thing could be turned into nothing more than a bad memory. And yet…

"What's the matter? Mudblood got your tongue?"

I made my decision. "Longbottom is nearly as close to Potter as Granger and Weasley. If I had let these idiots curse him, it wouldn't have put us Slytherins in the best light and—"

"Who cares what precious Potter thinks?!" Malfoy snapped impatiently.

"Hear me out," I begged, taking a step back despite myself. "I helped dear old Neville. He owes me." Intrigue flashed briefly across the blonde boy's face, and I plunged forward. "That means if I need to get any dirt on Potter, or maybe just get a little curious to know what the next Gryffindor game plan is, he'll be a sport and tell me. Won't you, Longbottom?"

I spun around to face the boy and nodded slightly, hoping he would pick up the earnest gleam in my eye. Slowly, Neville nodded. "A-Anything..."

"You see?"

"I get it," Malfoy agreed. "...Alright, run away then, Longbottom. Be sure to tell Princess Potter how good we're being."

At Draco's instruction, the boy found his legs and took off with a squeak, his face petrified into a state of disbelief.

I watched him go and managed a relieved sigh, enjoying a few seconds of peace before it became painfully obvious that no one but Neville had drifted away.

The blonde boy was eyeing my expression intently, a smirk spreading across his thin lips. "I'm Draco Malfoy," he pronounced his name as though I was being allowed a great privilege. "You're Ebony Ravenway, aren't you?"

"I am."

Draco seemed satisfied and beckoned for me to walk with him. "My father was an acquaintance of Maurice and Morana Ravenway...up until their unfortunate demise, of course." He spoke of death in the same way one might comment about the weather. "He was telling a few guests last summer that they were one of the few wizarding couples that remembered how pure-bloods should carry themselves. Are they of your line?"

"Maurice and Morana were my parents," I said quietly.

"Were they? That makes you one of the _real_ sort. The Ravenways of that line have a pure ancestry running almost as long as my own." He frowned suddenly, "Shame about your uncle marrying a Banbery though. A blood-traitor really can ruin an entire family. Still, at least you come from the better side."

I nodded again, hoping that Draco would credit the flush rising to my cheeks to the cold air. I had lived with my aunt and uncle practically since birth. If anyone had told me even a week ago that the closest thing I had to a father-figure was a blood-traitor, I would have laughed in their face. There was not a more conservative wizard family than my aunt and uncle's in all of Britain.

Our conversation was gratefully drawn to an end, however, as we came to the Entrance Hall. With a quick explanation of my approaching exam, I headed toward the library and left him to find Common Room with only Crabbe and Goyle in toe. I did not mention the party waiting for him, though I could imagine nothing sweeter than Draco's reaction to Pansy throwing a victory celebration for the Gryffindors.

"Ebony!" My cheerful musings were interrupted by a lofty voice with which I was becoming too familiar.

I wearily stopped my assent up the northern staircase, wondering with dismay if I would ever get the opportunity to study for the Transfiguration exam. "Yes?"

"If you're around, you're welcome to join my lot at breakfast tomorrow." I wondered at Draco's ability to sound disinterested even at a yell.

"O-Of course."

He nodded, glaring briefly at a Hufflepuff who rushed by, and turned back toward the dungeon. Then, with a swift motion I half-doubted was meant for me, he gave a short backwards wave and disappeared.

Shaking my head, I continued my climb and felt something hard hit my leg. _East of Eden_ was still in my pocket. I was running around school with Muggle literature, helped an incompetent Gryffindor, stood up to Draco Malfoy, and lived with the only "blood-traitor" in the Ravenway family. Somehow, I had come through the process with my social standing not only intact, but increased.

"This year is definitely going to be a strange one..."

XxoxoxoxoxoX

_Author's End Note:_ And there you are! I hope you all forgive the beginning and end notes. As you can see, not much is left of the original story, though I still intend to incorporate concerts, love interests, Willow and maybe even vampires if it's passable enough (or even readable), but no promises. Anyway, there's Chapter 1 for you!

Oh...and Dobby watched. :-)


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: I would just like to take a quick paragraph to say thank you to everyone that reviewed my first chapter. I've never shown anything I've written to more than a handful of people before, so it's very encouraging to read so much positive feedback! This next chapter is pretty horrendous as I haven't really had time to work very hard on it, but hopefully I won't make anyone want to take back their kind remarks. Thanks again to all my readers! You really are the best!

XxoxoxoxoxoX

When I first woke up, I could not remember where I was. My neck was stiff and sore from its awkward, hunched-over position atop _Intermediate Transfiguration_. My legs and left arm were numb from their prolonged exposure to the cold stone lining the dungeons, and my thoughts were far too unorganized to be particularly concerned with standing up.

Slowly, I remembered the events of the night before. I had gone to the library to study, struggled to explain the impossibility to transfigure an empty plate into a bowl of porridge, and then…? My mind drew a blank. How _had_ I ended up sleeping outside of the Slytherin Common Room?

"Are you alright now, child?"

I jumped into standing position with a sharp gasp, wincing as my limbs prickled from the sudden increase in blood flow. The voice had belonged to the chubby, smiling little ghost of the Hufflepuff House: the Fat Friar.

Apparently my shock showed, and the late friar smiled apologetically. "Forgive me, dear. I didn't mean to surprise you, but I was just passing by and thought it would be quite a shame for a growing girl to miss breakfast."

"How...?" I began slowly, finding it difficult to make my mouth work at the same speed as my mind. "What time is it?"

"Oh, there's still plenty of time to eat, if that's what you're concerned about. Most of your House left just a few minutes ago actually." His jovial face wrinkled into a faint frown. "Thankfully, no one attempted to disturb you, but with Peeves' tendency to roam the castle…"

There was no need to explain further; Peeves was most definitely reason to get out of the way as quickly as possible. "I understand. Thank you for the warning, sir!"

I lowered my head respectfully and quickly slipped through the hidden door to the Slytherin dormitories. After hastily changing my clothes and a brief search for a blank roll of parchment to stash in my bag, I set off to the Great Hall.

My pace slowed significantly when I actually came upon the entrance to the large dining room. I could not recall the last time I was not among the first five Slytherins to make it to mealtime. Unable to muster the courage to go in alone, I shuffled my weight nervously from one foot to the other.

"What should I do?!" I moaned aloud. "I'm late to breakfast…I'm _late _to breakfast!"

In reality, my options were slim. I had already skipped supper the night before to leave ample room to get work done, and my stomach raged against missing another meal. Still, the idea of opening the door to the Great Hall with everyone else already enjoying their meal was unbearable. I could just see myself walking in; my skin turning to gooseflesh as the dull roar of conversation was brought to an abrupt halt to inspect my late arrival. It could not end well. I was doomed.

_No!_ I ordered my imagination to a halt with a swift shake of my head and stared hard at the two large double doors. _There isn't a single witch or wizard who will care that I'm late. I'm invisible. Yes, absolutely invisible..._ I instinctively folded my hands into a prayer._ Oh, please, just let me be invisible! _With a deep breath that somehow failed to bring any air to my lungs, I pushed open the heavy door and slipped into the bustling hall.

The happy clattering of forks and knives greeted me as hundreds of students laughed, ate and squeezed in some last minute studying. No one looked up from their various activities as I edged nervously to the Slytherin table. Something like a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Never had I been so grateful to be ignored. The only thing left to worry about now was where to sit. My eyes scanned the table for open seats, quickly checking and double-checking my memory bank to be sure it wasn't usually reserved for an old friend, current sweetheart or, even worse, a makeshift dividing line between two rivaling cliques.

"Ebony! Ebony, over here!" My heart stuttered to a halt upon hearing a cheerful voice direct my attention to the Ravenclaw table. The speaker was a pixie-faced girl with a broad smile and dark hair piled in colorful braids.

"Willow!" I grinned with relief and quickly rushed over to meet the eager Ravenclaw. "How are you?"

"Full, but happy," she said with a grin, pointing her fork toward her half-filled plate. As with everything else I had ever seen the girl eat, Willow's plate was assembled into a small barnyard of leftovers, complete with a waffle farmhouse, egg-white cows with yolk spots and tiny pigs assembled from sausages.

"Where's the farmer?" I asked, pointing at the disorganized creatures.

"Oh, Davies ate him," she said casually, winking at an attractive boy sitting a few seats away. I vaguely recognized him to be the captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, and Willow's current flame. Her smirk grew into a true smile when he returned her sentiment with a small salute. "Sit down, we have space."

"I don't think I should…" I started.

"Yes, yes, I know. Now come on, Saint Ebony, sit down."

Knowing she would not settle for a polite refusal, I did as she told, unable to resist the temptation to snatch a bit of toast and sausage in the process.

For a few moments we shared a comfortable silence, interrupted occasionally with soft crunching sounds as I worked my jaw on a particularly dry piece of bread. Willow and I had a friendship that went back to our very first ride on the Hogwarts Express; there was no need to start gossiping immediately. Though her hair style and love interest changed often, she was always hopelessly positive and easy-going. I laughed a little as I watched her sneak another sidelong glance at Roger Davies. Even as my eleven year old self had cried over being Sorted into different Houses, she had given my hand an eager squeeze and promised "to investigate the dark and mysterious Slytherin boys with just as much enthusiasm as her nerds."

"So rumor has it that you were involved in a little skirmish after the game yesterday," she began slowly, raising an inquisitive brow. "Any truth in that, Ebby?"

"It wasn't a 'skirmish.' One of Potter's friends lost his toad and I found it for him. That's all there is to it."

"Sure, sure, in your version, anyway. The one the rest of the school is telling makes it sound like Pucey and his gang were abusing an innocent Gryffindor when you intervened and saved him from a fate worst than a dead toad. It varies here and there a bit after…uh, that…" she drifted off, her gaze moving to something behind me.

If there was anything Willow did worse than lying, it was withholding information. "Varies?" I pressed.

Her eyes flickered between my face and whatever her distraction was. "Oh, yes…Well, half are claiming that you got the poor thing off the hook free as a phoenix, and the rest say that you were sure to bribe a favor out of him first." She grimaced at the second theory. "It's total nonsense, I know, but you know how stories are when a Slytherin is involved."

"Always the bad guy," I said softly, nodding.

"Don't be like that, Ebony! There's not a single person I know that doesn't think you're a goody to the core, it's just that some people—"

"It's fine, really," I tried my best to smile, but the left side of my mouth twitched.

Thankfully, my friend still seemed sufficiently sidetracked by whatever was going on outside my scope of vision. Assuming it was just another cute wizard, I busied myself with a glass of orange juice and stole a helping of scrambled eggs. If it was anything important, Willow would not allow me to be out of the loop for long.

"Random question," the girl announced suddenly. "Did your adventures yesterday somehow involve Draco Malfoy?"

My fork missed my mouth. "How did you know?"

"Well, either he's using x-ray vision to sneak a peek at Wayne Hopkins' chocolate frog cards, or he's staring at you."

I turned on reflex. Sure enough, Draco's cold grey eyes met mine immediately. With a satisfied smile, he graced me with a wave and motioned pointedly to the vacant seat directly in front of him.

"Ebony," Willow cried, clutching my arm. "What did you _do?_"

"Everything's fine," I assured her, standing up.

"Do you want me to come? It might help to have extra support."

"Extra support? For Merlin's sake, it's not like he's going to attack me, Willow!"

"You don't know that for sure, Ebony. It is Malfoy, after all."

I rolled my eyes and put a finger to my lips. There was no doubt in my mind that Willow would be watching eagerly for even the smallest sign of drama, but that was a welcome alternative to her approaching Draco with wand ablaze.

My confidence lessened as I left the safety of Willow's over-enthusiasm, and I edged cautiously to the Slytherin table. Something was wrong, I realized. Draco _never_ had a vacant seat around him, let alone directly in front of him.

"You're late, Ravenway," the boy said with smirk, nodding to the seat.

"Where's Pansy?"

Draco's expression turned into one of disgust. "She can go sit with Potty and the Weasel for all I care. Someone of her supreme stupidity deserves to be surrounded by people of the same intelligence. Throwing a party for the _Gryffindors_…"

My first two words to the boy, and I had already struck a nerve. "I-I'm sorry—I'm sure she didn't—maybe I should go…"

"_Sit_, Ravenway."

I sat. Seemingly content with my obedience, the boy knit his fingers together to make a bed for his chin.

My eyes seemed to fall naturally to his hands. They were surprisingly attractive. His alabaster skin was stretched almost translucently over his knuckles, and his veins created gentle blue trails across its unblemished surface. Each nail was carefully cut to create a perfect crescent moon of white at each polished tip, and his fingers moved with a strange, almost delicate grandeur.

"That girl is a friend of yours?" Malfoy asked, drawing my attention away from his hands and nodding in Willow's direction.

"My best," I answered, smiling despite myself.

He did not smile back. "I have to admit, I didn't think you had any friends, Ravenway. No one _I_ spoke with seems to know anything more than a piece of your class schedule. It's unusual for someone to seek friends outside of their House."

I trained my eyes on his hands once more to avoid having to meet his inquiring gaze. "I don't seek friends anywhere in particular. They're nice to have, but I was of the understanding that Hogwarts was supposed to be more about learning than socializing." I regretted my words even before they were out of my mouth. Who was I to speak so brazenly to a Malfoy?

Much to my surprise, Draco snickered softly. "So you're a _scholar_, is that it? And here I thought you were just shy."

"I'm not a scholar. I-I'm—that's not important! Why were you asking about me?" My face was red with embarrassment.

The boy unlaced his fingers and straightened the sleeves of his robes with an impressive yawn. "Well, I make it my business to know about _all_ of the oddities of this school, and you, Ravenway, are most definitely odd."

"I…I see."

"Do you? Then perhaps you could enlighten me." Malfoy seemed frustrated. "You're a pure-blood, and there aren't many of our kind left. Even worse is that families like the Weasleys are making a mockery of what a proud bloodline means. It's an embarrassment to our ancestry, the way they behave! And _Potter_…" He stopped short. "My point is the Malfoy heir and the Ravenway heir should know each other better. My father would consider it a crime for someone of your background to be forced to look outside of the House for friends. _I _would consider it a crime."

I stared. There was nothing else I could do. My tongue appeared to have disappeared down my throat.

"Be my escort to Hogsmeade tomorrow," the boy demanded. He did not appear bothered that I was not being allowed a say in the matter. "Celestina Warbeck just returned from her American tour and I'm sure you know how my parents are about rare opportunities. Father arranged for her to perform for my birthday the moment he heard she would be in the area. It is a few months away, of course, but Mother didn't see any problem with giving me one of my presents a little early."

"Celestina Warbeck? You can't mean the singer." Draco smiled vaguely at me, as though my surprise was that of a child's. "She's really coming to Hogsmeade? Tomorrow?! You can't be serious!" I could not imagine news this big escaping Willow's rumor mill.

"Just for invited guests, of course," the young man said in his usual bored drawl. "And, as I'm dissatisfied with the rest of my options, I want you to come with me."

I strained to keep my face expressionless as I waited for the inevitable punchline. He had to be joking; yesterday was the first time he had even gone so far as to acknowledge my existance! His countenance displayed nothing but confidence however, as though waiting for nothing more than my endless stream of thanks to make the date official.

"Um, not to sound disrespectful, but I'll need a bit of time to think about it."

Malfoy could not have looked more surprised if I had just declared myself a Squib. Then, after a short pause, he laughed outright. "You really are queer, Ravenway! Alright, take your 'time' then. I'll save a seat for you. Oh, and try to look nice, won't you?"

Before I could tell him that I was serious, he had stood up and strolled out of the room, Crabbe and Goyle naturally materializing at his shoulders. There was an incensed banging sound on the other end of the table as Pansy Parkinson stood up and followed after the trio, a furious expression on her face as she passed me by without so much as a glance.

Willow waited until most of the table was empty to approach me again. My face was still frozen in the same wide-eyed disbelief, my lips parted in preparation to explain that I really did need to think about it; that he could not expect me to agree simply because he was rich, conceited and popular… "Ebony?" she said timidly. "Ebony, are you alright?"

I turned my head toward her slowly, a distant part of my brain wondering at why she appeared so concerned. "I'm fine." Everything I had prepared to say to Malfoy disappeared in a flash of comprehension. It was though I was seeing everything with perfect clarity for the first time. He _could _expect me to simply go along with him. I was no Harry Potter; I would never disagree. He was Draco Malfoy. No Slytherin in their right mind would need "time" to think about being seen anywhere with him.

"I'm fine," I repeated, wonder in my voice. "I'm going to Hogsmeade with Draco Malfoy."

XxoxoxoxoxoX

Author's Note: Ick, eh? Oh well, true to my word, there's Willow for you all, and some sort of vague promise to get music involved. Like I said before, this isn't really anything like My Immortal, but I'm doing the best I can to incorporate things… I'll have Chapter 3 on the way shortly, and, with any luck, successfully redeem myself in the eyes of HP fans. Praise or criticism is, as always, welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

Gah! I'm sorry I haven't added a chapter in so long! It's application season and the torrents of forms and essays momentarily stripped me of my ability to be deranged and scribbly. Again, thank you all so much for the support! I'll do my best to make the strain on your eyes worth it! Chapter 3 ended up a bit longer than I planned…

XxoxoxoxoxoX

"_You_ are going to Hogsmeade with Malfoy," Willow repeated for the twentieth time as I picked up my bag and started toward Transfiguration.

Once again, I returned her incredulous statement of the obvious with a curt nod.

"Are you sure we're talking about the same person? Because I don't think you understand what I am saying. The boy I'm thinking of is blonde, completely in love with himself, goes by the first name of Draco, and has two pet trolls named, I don't know, Rufus and Doofus or something."

"Their names are Crabbe and Goyle actually, but yes, that's the one," I confirmed with yet another bob of the head. "I left your table to talk to him, remember?"

Willow did not find my stab at humor to be particularly amusing. She gave me a sharp tug to the arm, seemingly oblivious to the large herd of students rushing past us. For a girl with such a feeble frame, her grip was surprisingly tight. "I don't like it, Ebony," she began in a rushed whisper. "Parkinson has that territory pretty thoroughly staked out. She'll claw your eyes out if you aren't careful."

"Calm down, Wil. He's throwing an early birthday, that's all. He probably only even asked me to come because everyone's throwing rumors around about yesterday to begin with. It means nothing, you hear? You are making a big deal out of _nothing_."

The girl seemed less than convinced. Chewing hard on her bottom lip, she searched my face, and, reluctantly, released her hold on my forearm. "Do what you want," she muttered, turning on her heel. "I'm going to be late for Ancient Runes. See you."

Before I had time to respond, she was gone, disappearing in the flood of students pouring through the hallways. Knowing better than to push my chances when it came to McGonagall's class, I continued on my way, struggling to ignore the nasty sensation growing in my stomach.

After pushing through a crowd of third-year Hufflepuffs and nearly falling on my face in an effort to avoid being pelted with day-old cauldron cakes Peeves had somehow smuggled from the kitchen, I made it to Transfiguration with less than a second to spare. Reluctant to waste time searching for my usual seat, I sank gratefully into the first chair I could find, too pleased with my own good fortune to worry about specifics.

A small yelp escaped from something beside me. Curious, I turned to see what sort of creature might be making such a strange sound and quickly found myself staring into the horrified face of Neville Longbottom. The color drained from my cheeks. In my self-absorbed daze, I had forgotten McGonagall's tendency to have the Gryffindors and Slytherins share test periods. To make matters worse, I was sitting on the primarily Gryffindor side of the class.

My frenzied attempt to switch seats was interrupted by the distinct sound of heeled boots in the front of the classroom. Professor McGonagall had officially begun her opening lecture. Slowly, I sank back down in my chair, my body tensed for an assault from either side of the room.

"Quiet down now," the witch ordered, her emerald robes sweeping behind her as she walked toward her desk. "As I am sure you are all well aware, I will be using this class to evaluate your performance on a randomly selected piece of material relevant to the art of Transfiguration. With this said, I have decided to test your aptitude in silent incantations. I trust you all to do an exemplary job, particularly those of you who did not feel it was necessary to stay awake for the lecture I gave on our last visit." McGonagall's spectacles flashed in the direction of Ronald Weasley, much to the Slytherins' delight.

A familiar hand shot into the air almost before the Professor had finished speaking.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Professor, you don't want us to transfigure those jewelry boxes on your desk, do you? Because, well, there aren't really enough unless we break into groups."

"You are correct on all accounts, Miss Granger," the witch confirmed, her voice crisp with authority. "At the suggestion of some of your peers, the class will separated into pairs and receive a joint grade based on the combined efforts of both students."

"I call Hermione," I heard Ron whisper loudly as the black-haired boy beside him snickered with amusement.

"Ah, yes," McGonagall said, the grim line shaping her mouth curving upwards slightly. "To avoid purposely extorting your fellow classmates, _I_will put you in groups based on where you are seated. If there's a box between the both of you, you're partners."

With a wave of her wand, the jewelry boxes moved from her desk to the various tables placed around the classroom. I struggled to suppress a groan as one landing perfectly between myself and Longbottom. The boy made another strangled squealing sound.

"The rules are simple," the teacher continued. "Whichever of you is on the right will begin first and _silently_ transfigure the jewelry chest you see before you into a box turtle. Your partner will then return it to its original state, and the pattern will be repeated a second time in reverse, with the one to the left re-transfiguring the chest, and the student on the right restoring it to normal. As it is a silent spell, I expect to hear minimal talking. If one of you is having difficulty, however, you may ask your partner for assistance at a five point deduction from your personal grade and a two point addition to theirs. I will be coming around the room to monitor your progress. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes ma'am," the class responded reluctantly.

"Y-Yes," I heard Neville sputter beside me.

"Very well then. You may begin."

Longbottom and I did not move as the rest of the class took out their wands and began to furiously shake them at their respective wooden box. Hoping to break the stress, I tried for a laugh. "I didn't expect us to meet again so soon."

Neville paled with dread. "I'm sorry! I didn't know you normally sat here! I thought the back rows were deserted, and if I had a little bit of a head start to the door I might be able to see Professor Sprout before next class and…and…I'm really, really sorry!"

I shook my head, slightly frightened of the boy's anxious explanation. "It's fine. I don't normally sit here either. You're Neville Longbottom, right? I'm Ebony." I grabbed his hand and gave it a firm shake. "Let's do our best today, okay Longbottom?"

The boy stared at me, his expression somewhere between gratitude and suspicion. "Y-You…you can call me Neville if you want to," he muttered at last.

"Alright, Neville then," I attempted another smile. I was not foolish enough to think our partnership would bring us anywhere near friendship, but I could not give up an opportunity to prove I wasn't completely evil. "I think you need to go first."

The boy's large eyes fell to the jewelry chest sitting between us, and, his lips fluttering silently, he poked the box with his wand. With a wild vibration, a brown turtle head sprouted from its side, making little moans of protest as it struggled to break its legs through the wood it was still encased in.

Neville cringed at me nervously. "Gram always told me the world would be a better place if I just left Transfiguration alone. I'm really not very good…"

"Don't be so down on yourself. There, look over at Granger's for a moment," I said, gesturing to the girl as she worried over whether her perfect example looked too much like a tortoise. "Now, come back to ours, give your wand a little bit more of a figure eight flourish before you aim it, and imagine that the chest isn't really there and our turtle is."

Longbottom did as I told, his wand shaking nervously as McGonagall walked by our table. Then, with a quick movement of his lips, a turtle sat where our box had been, a metal latch attached to its shell and its shape still slightly blocky.

"Better, Mr. Longbottom," McGonagall said with a slight nod. "Much better. Your turn, Miss Ravenway."

I nodded and pulled out my own wand. Transfiguration was far from my best subject, but I had always excelled at putting transfigured objects back to normal. With a deep breath, I made a figure eight through the air and pointed my wand at Neville's box turtle, my fingers clenched so hard around the wood that I could almost feel the dragon heartstring beating in protest. I practically collapsed with pleasure as the little reptile gave way to my will and changed back into a jewelry chest.

"Good," the stern witch said. "Now change it back again."

My internal celebration was brought to a staggering halt at the sudden reminder that my test was not yet completed. Slightly less confident now, I did my best to imagine the wooden storage case giving way to a turtle once more. Making the reverse motion with my wand this time, I focused all of my energy on the tiny jewelry box before me. My second attempt was not quite as successful as I had hoped, and the turtle that appeared was covered in the same wood-grain pattern as the mahogany he was fashioned from.

After a quick evaluation of my work, McGonagall allowed Neville his second turn. This time, the boy needed no second attempt and successfully turned the poor beast back to into a lifeless box of wood.

"The top is curved slightly," the woman noticed critically as she moved away from us. "But it is more than acceptable. Well done to the both of you."

Neville stared past her in amazement, his eyes wide at his own accomplishment. "I did it," he whispered to himself. Then, as though realizing I was still standing beside him, he turned his attention back to me. "Thanks for helping me…Ebony."

I shrugged off his thanks, but I could not quite hide the embarrassed pink of my cheeks. Praise was not exactly common among the Slytherins, and I found myself struggling to come up with an appropriate response. "I didn't do anything besides remind you of what you already knew."

The boy looked like he was about to object, but his argument was silenced by a short spasm of fake laughter from the other side of the classroom.

"Look, Draco," Pansy's distinctively screechy tones were easy to identify even before I noticed her eyes glinting maliciously in my direction. It appeared that she had somehow managed to secure Malfoy as her partner, and, despite her best attempts, the blonde boy was still managing to give her the cold shoulder. "Funny that Ravenway should want to sit over with the Gryffindors, don't you think? It almost looks like she and Longbottom are making _friends_."

My stare did not move from the pair fast enough, and against my will I found myself immersed in the cold grey gaze of Draco Malfoy for the second time that morning. Much to my surprise, the boy's thin lips curled with amusement rather than disgust. "I doubt it. Ravenway doesn't think friends are important. Longbottom owes her a favor; she's probably just reminding him to keep his end of the bargain."

Parkinson looked just as astonished as I felt. "W-Well, you might be willing to trust her, but I don't. She's keeping secrets, Draco. She's—"

"Want to know something even _funnier_ than Ravenway and Longbottom?" the boy said coldly, looking away from me and raising a fair eyebrow, "Because I honestly can't imagine anything more amusing than someone like you doubting my opinion. Tell me, do you think you're smarter than me, Pansy? Or is it just that you have better judgment than I do?"

"Draco, I — th-that is — of course not! I didn't mean it like that! I…I just meant…"

If I had thought the look Pansy gave me was vicious, it was nothing to Malfoy's venomous glare. "Potter is only a few tables away. Why don't you give him a slice of that 'victory cake' you made last night? As a matter of fact, share it with all the Gryffindors!"

"Pl-Please Draco, I already told you a m-million times that I-I…" the pug-faced girl's voice broke and, with tears in her eyes, she stood up and rushed out of class, ignoring McGonagall's order to return to her seat. Draco watched her leave with an unaffected expression on his face, his wand twirling vaguely between his fingers.

Torn between a sense of pity and satisfaction at Pansy's broken-hearted state, I turned back to Neville. He appeared to have been listening in as well, and his round face lowered with humiliation. "I'm sorry if you sat next to me in order to learn about Harry or Quidditch. Please don't be angry with me, I…I really don't know anything. Ron or Hermione are the ones he's really close to. I'm just…well, a nobody."

I shook my head. "Relax, Neville. You're not a nobody, and you don't need to apologize so much. Honestly, I don't care about any of that," my whispered confession was so quiet I was surprised he was even able to hear it. "Pansy is right, even if she's only saying it to make Draco hate me."

I could not be sure of exactly how Longbottom planned to respond, but his reaction was interrupted by the end of class. With a strangely guilty appearance, the boy grabbed his bag and started toward the door. "Sorry — wait, no, I shouldn't apologize, sor — I mean, I really need to go see Professor Sprout before next class! Bye Ebony, and…um…thank you!"Looking flustered, the boy gave one last wave and quickly slipped away.

I smiled at the strange hand fate seemed to have dealt me, and slowly started to pack my own bag. I shook my head at the detailed notes I had taken from _Intermediate Transfiguration_. All that wasted time at the library for an exam that had solely reviewed silent incantations. It was no wonder no one else had seemed concerned.

"See you next class, Ravenway," I heard Draco call he as sauntered past my seat. "Cover for me if I'm late, alright? I forgot my textbook."

He did not wait for a response, and I did not expect him to. With a sigh, I put my bag over my shoulder and joined the mesh of Slytherins and Gryffindors making their way to next class.

Pleased that I would be able to travel the halls at a more relaxed pace this time around, I took my time working through the large mass of students. The worse was over, and Defense Against the Dark Arts was next. I nearly laughed aloud. Willow was right; I really did worry too much over little things.

"_EBONY RAVENWAY!"_

I stopped dead at the sound of such a furious voice screaming my name, as did most of the other students making their way through the wide intersection. Pansy Parkinson worked her way through the crowd, her face contorted with pure hatred. An empty circle seemed to be forming around the two of us, and there was a unique tension in the air. I looked around desperately for Malfoy, Willow, even Neville. There was not a recognizably friendly face to be found, and, what's worse, not a single professor in sight.

The girl laughed shrilly and threw a book at my feet, her smile almost mad with glee. I recognized it at once. _Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles_, my Muggle Studies textbook. "I don't know how you managed to trick_my_Draco, but you won't be able to fool me! Stay away from him, or I will make you _beg_ for Azkaban. Do you hear me, Ebony?! Approach him even one more time and I swear you'll regret it!"

I heard Pansy's piercing threats with perfect clarity, but my throat was suddenly too dry to respond. My mind went blank as I stared down at the simple little textbook. How had she found it? I was always so careful to bury it at the very bottom of my trunk… Had her real motive behind leaving class been to look through my things?

"Aw, what's _wrong_, Ebony? Kneazle got your tongue?" Pansy cried mockingly, taking out her wand and pointing it purposefully at my face.

With the threat of curses being shot through the air, the crowd around us backed away further. In desperation, I found my voice. "Pansy, please, there must be some sort of misunderstanding. I'm not trying to—"

"Don't give me any of your stupid excuses, Ravenway! People like you are the absolute worst of our kind! The Malfoys might have been on good terms with your parents, but Maurice and Morana are _dead_ now!" Pansy seemed to draw strength from the way her words left me gasping for air, and dug further, "Oh, don't look so sad! I imagine they're glad to be, knowing that their only daughter has grown up to be a stupid, disgusting, Muggle-loving, little wart on the back of true purebloods. They probably died begging for the Dark Lord to kill them! Anything to avoid knowing they created something like you!"

My body shut down, and for one terrible moment I could imagine my parents on their hands and knees, begging to die rather than face the shame of claiming me as their own. Before I could stop myself, I drew my wand.

Pansy was faster. _"Flagrate!"_

"_EXPELLIARMUS!"_ I gripped my throat as the sound of my spell echoed throughout the corridor and Parkinson was knocked forcibly against the wall, her wand flying from her hand. The fiery sparks of her curse were driven off course by the sudden attack, leaving me with nothing more than a shallow slash across the cheek.

"Nice one, Harry!" I heard someone say behind me.

Confused, I turned and found myself facing Harry Potter, his wand drawn and his jaw clenched with fury. "_Accio!"_he managed, summoning Pansy's now harmless weapon to him and snapping it in two.

"_Harry!"_ Hermione Granger protested. "I know what she did was uncalled for, but you can't just break someone's wan—"

"She shouldn't have opened her mouth," the boy said dangerously, throwing the broken pieces to the floor. "There's never a reason to tell anyone that their parents would rather die than be with them..."

I stared at the boy before me with wonder. Apparently I had not been the only one attempting to disarm Pansy. It was no wonder that my spell had sounded so odd. Slowly, the crowd dissipated, leaving my fellow Slytherin an unconscious heap on the floor, and me alone to face Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, his green eyes staring into my face. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing," I said too quickly, touching my face. It would take a lot more than a cut across the face to make me worthy of speaking to Harry Potter.

"It's not nothing when you're burned to the point of bleeding. C'mon, I'll take you to see Madam Pomphrey. She'll have you fixed up in a second." He turned back to his friends, "You two go ahead without me. I'll catch up."

"N-No, really! I can go myself!" I wiped the blood from my face with the back of my hand, trying to ignore the sickening clenching in my stomach. I had never been able to handle the sight of blood very well.

"Then I'll come as a witness." Harry said with a grim smile, picking up the Muggle Studies textbook Pansy had thrown at my feet and leading me toward the Hospital Wing. "After all, they say that your enemy's enemy is your friend."

"She's not my enemy. She only attacked me because she thinks I'm trying to steal Draco from her," I explained softly.

"I had no idea Malfoy was so popular," Harry remarked dryly. "It must be his great personality."

I smiled despite myself, momentarily forgetting my place.

The Boy Who Lived looked at me with an expression that almost suggested kinship. "I'm sorry I didn't do something sooner. Hermione kept trying to wrestle the wand out of my hand."

My smile disappeared. "Why does everyone keep apologizing to me? I should be the one saying sorry to everyone else! Pansy is my problem, not yours."

"Not to offend you, but you aren't alone, and I'm not just talking about Parkinson's opinion. We both lost our parents to Voldemort, and, if that burn is bad enough, we'll even be able to compare scars." He laughed, "Are you really a Slytherin?"

"Yes," I lowered my eyes. How could he ever compare the way he lost his parents to the way I lost mine? How could he even _look_ at someone like me and not know the truth? Couldn't he see that his kindness was only proving how ugly I really was?

I was glad to escape him as we arrived at the Hospital Wing and Madam Pomphrey rushed me inside to be patched back to good health. After pumping Potter for information and confirming his story with my own, she quickly sent him back to class.

Before she could manage to push him back out the door, Harry gave me one last hopeless smile. "Trust me, she'll have you better before you know it. I hope to see you around, Ebony!"

And suddenly, nothing else mattered. I did not care that Pansy Parkinson was going to make my life miserable, or that Draco Malfoy had defended me from her. Hogsmeade, Willow's warnings, and my own worries disappeared behind one impossible, glittering fact. Harry Potter had said my name.

For the first time in my life, I wondered if choosing Slytherin had been a mistake.

XxoxoxoxoxoX

There is so much I want to complain about with this chapter, but I'll try to keep it to myself. I worked hard to keep Ebony from coming off as a Sue, and I think (_think_, mind you) that I did alright. I really didn't feel as though I could call this a rendition of "My Immortal" if I even went so far as to scrap the love triangle, so I tried my best to tweak it into something with conflict, one-sided affection and even (do I dare suggest it?) a bit of depth. Hah, I won't bother to suggest the next chapter is coming anytime soon, but I will say I'm already at work on it. Once again, your opinion IS important, and any praise or criticism is appreciated. Thank you all so much!


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: This chapter was finished much more quickly than I had initially anticipated, but I guess it makes a lot of sense. The good part of tragedy is that it makes me think harder and write faster. The bad part is that no matter how hard or fast, it just doesn't come off as "real" anymore, so I'm having trouble making this as convincing as I want it to be. All I can say to my readers is thank you again for all of your wonderful support, and I hope that you have better success than I in relating to my little slice of Hogwarts.

XxoxoxoxoxoX

I stared hard at my reflection as I played with different hairstyles. Malfoy's words played like a song stuck deep into my brain. _Oh, and try to look nice, won't you?_ I threw the long curtain of black around my shoulders doubtfully. I didn't even know what '_look_ _nice_' meant to myself, let alone Draco Malfoy. Nervously, I traced at the phantom slash across my cheek.

Madam Pomphrey had me fixed up in mere minutes, but my face still prickled vaguely with the ghost of the wound. Pansy Parkinson had been another matter. Within the same moment the kindly witch discovered the girl was still lying in a heap in the middle of the hall, she was suddenly there, moaning pathetically about the suffering she had endured at my malicious hands.

After reiterating my story to both Professors Snape and McGonagall, subjecting my wand to _Prior Incantato_, and missing the rest of the day's classes as a result, the issue was finally wiped away as an unfortunate accident. Pansy, for her part in the drama, remained stubbornly "unconscious" as droves of concerned Slytherins rushed to her side. For the time being my fate amongst my peers was still up for debate, though there were definite whispers that Potter's help proved I was not "one of them."

Quietly, I slipped away from the crowd and back to the Girl's Dormitories, off to study my ransacked trunk in solitude. My heart pounding, I dug through the scrambled contents. Finally, my fingers brushed against something hard hidden amongst the extra fabric. Impossible, and yet there it was. _East of Eden_.

"Sorry, Pansy," I whispered, lovingly holding the book to my chest, "I'm afraid you just didn't dig quite far enough."

The book nearly slipped from my fingers as I heard the soft sound of the door hiding the Slytherin Common Room open and close.

"Ravenway," a cool voice reverberated against the stone, "are you in here?"

Practically falling over my feet, I shoved _East of Eden _under my pillow and scrambled upstairs.

Draco was waiting for me, his posture utterly relaxed as he sank slowly into the cushy armchair set closest to the fireplace. He did not turn as I slowly made my way to him, my hands trembling slightly as I realized that Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere to be found. I had never felt so completely naked.

As the silence threatened to swallow us whole, the blonde boy spoke first. "How's your face?"

"What…?"

The firelight twinkled against the metallic cast of his eyes as they slowly made their way over my awestruck expression. "You don't honestly believe that I didn't hear what happened, do you?"

I blushed with vibrant shame. "Th…That's not what I meant! I just thought everybody was checking in with Pansy right now. I didn't think anyone was really worried about me… I thought they all knew I was fine."

The boy shifted ever so slightly in my direction, the faintest flutter of a smirk playing on his lips. "So many assumptions, Ravenway. You think I care about Pansy Parkinson's little game of pretend? Please. I had better acting in my third year, and with better results, at that."

"The hippogriff incident," I recalled, my throat strangely dry. I had thought Draco's suffering was a bit exaggerated, but it still came as a shock. "That poor beast nearly…"

Malfoy shrugged, "Call it what you will. That oversized fool nearly killed the lot of us. But that doesn't matter. As I was saying before, I couldn't care less about Pansy and what you did or didn't do to cause it. I just wanted to be sure you were still coming to Hogsmeade."

The boy's callousness was almost frightening. Hadn't he and Pansy been joined at the hip only days ago? "…I'll be there," I said softly.

"Good," he said evenly, rising from his chair and making his way back to the door. "Oh, and that reminds me." With a disapproving curl of his lips, the boy reached into his robe, pulled out a heavy leather-bound book, and dropped it carelessly on one of the small coffee tables littering the room. "_Potty_ was meaning to give this back to you. Apparently you have more friends then I thought...Ebony."

My eyes stayed glued to the textbook's surface._ Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles_. It couldn't be worse. "I…I can explain! You see, I was—"

"Explain later. I don't really care right now," Draco carefully ran his fingers through his white-gold hair as he made his way back into the dungeons. "Until I decide what to make of you, it's all just part of the fun." With one last smirk at his own ingenious game, he left me alone with that final piece of contraband, Harry Potter's fingerprints accusingly smudging its surface.

For the rest of the day the Common Room remained fairly deserted, the majority of the Slytherin House dutifully monitoring their fallen comrade's progress until Madam Pomphrey at last shooed them out the door. They took very little notice of me whether it be positive or negative. After all, _Potter_ had disarmed the poor girl for no reason at all, and it had been _Potter_ who broke her wand. No, my only sin was Malfoy's interest in me, and, as long as I retained his good graces, I could not yet be punished for that.

Much to my own amazement, the next day came without further incident, and I was free to piece together my new "look" in privacy.

I suppose this would be the best time to explain the problems that posed. I have read enough to know that a good physical description is often poetic. Unfortunately, however, my appearance does not invoke much in the way of elaborate metaphors. The girl that stared back at me had a gaunt facial structure, watery blue eyes permanently ringed in a bruise-like purple, and a pale, sickly skin tone. My build was small, scrawny, weak; my expression feeble. There was very little in the way of prose and imagery to be had.

My one asset was my hair, my ebony namesake. It hung around my plain features, falling in front of my face when I wasn't permitted to advert my eyes. I wrapped my hands around the thick strands, slowly twisting them in and out of braids. I wanted to see Willow badly…to hear her opinion on how a proper Slytherin would dress. Still, it was no good. She disliked the whole mess. Defeated, I threw my hair into a bun, painted my lips and eyes as best I could, and made my way to Hogsmeade.

Malfoy was at my side from the moment I entered the Great Hall, though it was nearly impossible to tell if that was coincidence or intentional. After a short greeting of "Ravenway," the boy did not seem to notice me at all. Instead he guided his loyal cronies behind him, always casually matching my stride or leading me with a two or three step advantage. It seemed that Parkinson's recovery did not need to be monitored at the expense of missing a party, and, with the exception of a very small handful, nearly every Slytherin of importance decided to make an appearance.

"So where did your folks set up the bash?" one of the sixth-years asked.

"The Three Broomsticks, of course," Draco said in his usual impassive drawl.

"No way! They're always packed! How'd you manage to get them to close off the general public?"

Malfoy laughed ominously, "Galleons speak louder than threats."

There was a huge crowd guarding the entrance to The Three Broomsticks as Draco led his guests inside. It appeared most of them were outraged at being barred entry, while others were simply curious onlookers. A flash of bright hair caught the corner of my eye as I was pushed inside, and it appeared that Ron Weasley was giving the guard a particularly profane piece of his mind.

My eyes raked the redecorated surroundings with awe. Had I not seen the outside of the building, I would never have believed it to be the same pub. The inside had been expanded, its familiar bar replaced with a stage, and the floor bare with the exception of a few small tables bordering the main stage. A uniformed waiter stood respectfully to the side of each table as the area was slowly filled to its brim with excited Slytherins.

"Would you like a seat, Ravenway?" the boy asked, following my eyes. "Food and drink are free, of course. My family doesn't believe in doing anything unless it's done all the way."

I followed his motions in a daze, waving away offered appetizers as the lights dimmed.

Celestina Warbeck walked onto the stage, her famous green-skinned banshees taking their place behind her. The crowd roared with approval as she wailed to the music, her notes fluctuating from glass-shattering screeches to a whisper soft baritone. I watched in embarrassment as the students broke into pairs at the start of "You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me."

"Enjoying yourself?" Draco called over the music, his grey eyes appraising my expression carefully. "I would have asked for the Weird Sisters you know, but after the Yule Ball… Well, it doesn't create quite the same sensation if it's been done before, does it?"

"It's wonderful," I said dutifully, forcing down a glass of butterbeer in an effort to appease the waiter hovering over me.

Malfoy frowned vaguely as Crabbe and Goyle ambled toward a pair of particularly trollish girls. Drumming his fingers impatiently against the table, he watched for a moment as I nervously squirmed in my seat.

"Let's dance," he suggested, grabbing my hand and forcing me from my place.

"N-No, wait," I stammered, trying to disengage my limb from his as I was dragged forcefully to the dance floor. "I don't know how!"

"Then I'll lead you," Malfoy said promptly, clasping my hand in his before sliding his other arm around him waist. He grinned as the others stared and pulled me a little closer.

It was all for show. My cheeks burned with a strange disappointment as I followed his movements. But I had known that from the start, hadn't I? I stared down at the floor, hardly aware of the music as I tried to piece together my inexplicable frustration. Why did I care so much? Why, why, _why…?_

"Don't look at your feet," Draco instructed suddenly, calling my attention back to the matter at hand. "Even the worst of dancers will be fine if they trust their partner."

Reluctantly, I raised my chin to face him, only to be graced with his usual conceited smirk. Could I ever trust someone like him, even as a dance partner? I stared back up at the boy uneasily.

Without Crabbe and Goyle at his shoulders, Draco was actually quite tall. The dim lighting cast his features in sharp relief, and his hands were warm and comforting. I felt a small part of me flinch away from him. The Draco Malfoy I expected was meticulously groomed, distant, and had a tongue as sharp as a knife. Now, he almost seemed…handsome. His steely eyes and fair hair picked up the little light in the room and reflected it back tenfold. It gave his gaze that extra glow that broke through your soul and mercilessly divulged even the deepest of secrets. I turned my head away slightly, my cheeks hot with shame. I could only imagine what we must have looked like together: the pedigree purebred and the scruffy mongrel.

"Are you _blushing_?" Draco asked with amusement, switching positions as Celestina sang a speedier number.

"Wha—?! I...I'm not…!"

"You like me after all," the blonde boy said, the silver of his eyes practically dancing as they reflected my mortified expression.

I opened my mouth to deny the accusation, but found that my voice had once again betrayed me. And yet, I really didn't know how I felt. Could I really be falling for Draco Malfoy? Was I really that…foolish?

My thoughts were driven wildly off course as Malfoy leaned slowly towards me, his head bowed. My heart threatened to flutter to a halt as his lips moved closer and closer, as though falling to meet my own. I tried to deny my own disappointment as his mouth moved past mine and was suddenly at my ear.

"I'm glad, actually," he whispered, his voice coated with triumph. "It's good to see you behaving like a real Slytherin for once. For just a moment, I thought you might hold something for Scar-face. You know, after I saw him with your Muggle book…"

I didn't realize that I wasn't breathing until he pulled away. The air pierced my lungs painfully as he withdrew, and my heart gasped hungrily for sustenance. "This whole thing was about Harry Potter?"

Draco scowled as he disentangled himself from me further. "Like _Potty _could ever be compared to me! I told you before. I wasn't going to come to my own party alone, and Pansy had already proved herself unworthy. You were interesting, and there was no one better. That's all there is to it."

"But why? Why…me?"

"Why not?" Malfoy said with a shrug. "Our families are of the same mold."

I did not want to say it. I did not want to admit that I was not like the others. The four words fell unwillingly from my lips, tainting my name by the syllable. "You saw my book."

Much to my amazement, the boy looked amused. "What? The Muggle Studies book Potter was holding for you? Why should I care? You can take whatever classes you want. It's no different than studying trolls to me."

"But I…"

"I really don't see what the problem is, Ravenway. As far as I'm concerned, your odd little secrets only make you all the more unusual. Be grateful and drop it." With that, the conversation was over. Draco Malfoy wandered away to get a drink, as though expecting me to follow or be left alone on the dance floor.

I trembled slightly, fighting the impulse to burst into frustrated tears. He was _interested_ in me, like I was a strange new toy to prop on display. Pansy Parkinson had no reason to be jealous. I had been right all along. It was all just a bloody game! _But if I knew all of this from the start, then why am I so…hurt?_

"Are you coming or not?" Draco called from the table, waving his butterbeer at me.

I pawed quickly at my eyes in an attempt to stop the tears from overtaking my face. "All a game," I whispered, staying where I was for a moment longer. The spoiled Slytherin kept his silver gaze trained on my miserable frame, tapping his foot impatiently all the while. Finally, like the loyal dog I was, I followed him.

"You really are quite cruel, Draco Malfoy."

XxoxoxoxoxoX

Author's Note: Well, err…there you are. Finally got around to describing Ebony…yay. Not much for me to really say for now except **praise and criticism is welcome. **

(I noticed some authors make their review request bold. Does it actually work? Let's find out! )


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